A Single Tear

By Jamae Vandegraph

If only I could have been a daddy’s girl
I would not of had grown up in that monster’s world
That monster he came calling for me
in his house I was scared as can be

Jamae Vandegraph remembers—and wishes she couldn’t. She remembers the man long ago who took her to a cold, dark, unfurnished upstairs bedroom equipped with an old wooden tripod with a big camera that rested on its top. She remembers this room because this is where he undressed her and forced her to touch him. She remembers being cold, scared, and alone. Most of all, she remembers closing her eyes and wishing she was anywhere but there.

In an autobiographical collection of prose and poetry, Vandegraph reflects on the anger and hurt that accompanied being a victim of sexual abuse as a young girl. In poignant verse that explores the terrifying moments when she was pulled out of her innocence and into the darkness, Vandegraph shares how she was victimized and eventually healed through forgiveness, self-love, and hope for a new future.

A Single Tear is a memoir of prose and poems that leads others on a heartbreaking path through childhood sexual abuse and ultimately into the bright light of healing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781532069352

Jamae Vandegraph

Jamae Vandegraph began writing poetry when she was in her thirties. Since then, writing has become a way for her to transfer her deepest emotions to paper. She lives with her husband in South Dakota. A Single Tear is her first collection of poems.

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Copyright © 2019 Jamae Vandegraph.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-6936-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-6935-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019903419

iUniverse rev. date: 04/30/2019

Contents

A Single Tear

To Dad With Love

Daddy’s Girl

The Golden Cup

Plain Ole Me

But

A Single Wish

A Priceless Gal

For Nora

Buster

MOTHERS KNOW

Thank You

Grandpas are Forever

Grandma’s House

Dearest Bethany

Chief Wheels Real Fast

Our Sparkling Star

The Empty Chair

SORROW and PAIN

Only Seven

A Volunteers Night

An Angel Appears

Lackin

Office Tools

The Golden Cup

Grieving

A Letter from Heaven

AS THEY WEEP

HOOVES OF THUNDER

The Mighty Round Up

Love Through Tears

Greatest Joys

The Healthy Knee

Pre Wedding Trials

Thankful For You

Grandma’s Hands

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This is my story being told through words and poetry. My story began when I was only six years old. I lived with my parents and five brothers. We lived in a nice quiet neighborhood in a two story home that was built by my father and grandfather. Our neighborhood consisted of mostly the older generation so it was a pretty quiet neighborhood with immaculate yards and flower gardens. Life at that time was pretty good; your usual teasing by brothers to a sister, riding bicycles and chasing fireflies in the evening. We had a relatively normal childhood. We spent most of our time outside playing and chasing each other and climbing trees, and yes sneaking off to play in the creek. We ate supper together at the table and after dark we enjoyed catching lightning bugs. As children we had a variety of pets come in and out of our lives and one in particular was our dog Leader. Leader was a guard dog who stayed outside on a long run which my dad constructed out of thick cable attached to a tree at one end and was attached to the outside corner of the garage at the other end. Then Leader’s chain was attached to a pulley that ran up and down the cable. Leader was a black and dark brown medium sized mixed breed dog that was as sweet as can be with us but would attack anyone trying to break into dad’s garage. Dad’s garage was pretty much what today’s dads now call a man cave. My dad wasn’t a big man but normal in height and medium build and he spent most of his free hours in this garage either by himself or on a regular basis, his racing buddies would drop by, have a beer and visit over working on the race car. I spent quite a bit of time sitting and just petting that old dog and admiring my dad and this race car that he built with his own two hands with only the body of an old Coop. This race car won many races and had changed in color throughout the years and eventually was sold for a long rail body race car as dad was getting older and needed a car with less of a vibration. I spent even more time with Leader telling him all my horrible secrets after my life changed for the worse. I don’t know how or who first met the man with a heart of steel but this stranger who moved into the big three story old house a block away from us didn’t waste any time getting to know my family. Two to three times a week this horrible new neighbor would call our house and ask my mother if my brother and I could come over and help him unpack his priceless treasures. I don’t know about you but if these treasures were so priceless why on earth would you want two small children touching them? The treasures were antiques but looked like old junk to me. This man would phone my mom and ask her to send us to his house. My mom was told he needed us to help him unpack or sort through his numerous items he collected for his home business. His collection consisted of older items and unusual one of a kind types of knick knacks I guess you would call them. Back then in the 60’s and early 70’s parents didn’t have to worry about child predators; it was unheard of in our small town. But one managed to move in a block away. I don’t recall helping to unpack anything. I don’t even recall how or what he did with my brother; I do know we were always separated some how. I just know I always left that old house alone and hurting, not just physically but emotionally and confused. I was always told by this man that my mom asked him to teach me to be a good young lady and if I told anyone I would be in big trouble and my dad would take a belt to me. Now as an adult I know these were all lies. But as a scared little girl you believe every word an adult would say to you. He prepped me day after day for the big special day as he called it. It started out as playing hide and seek with an object like a small ball or a quarter that he would hide in his pocket then down his pants and I would have to find it, then it was my turn and after a few times playing this game he decided to show me a better place to hide things. This game for me was no longer fun but becoming quite scary. I was also shown a book of children in different compromising positions in hopes it would extinguish any questions I might have lingering in the back of my mind that this was wrong. I now know that this horrible book was a book of child pornography and I feel horrible for those children. These pictures and games are still so vivid in my mind. I remember he would take me upstairs to a corner bedroom that was always dark and cold, with no furniture. I do remember there was an old wooden tripod with a big camera that rested on its top; this room was not so inviting or pretty to a little girl’s eye. Here is where I was always unclothed and he too would remove his clothing and the games became real and much scarier, with him touching me and him forcing me to touch him by him placing his hands on mine and forcing this touch upon me. If anyone would come knocking on the front door I was forced into a small closet, usually naked and told to be quiet or else. I was scared, cold and alone. I would just curl up in the fetal position and close my eyes and pray to be back at home. I always wondered where my brother was. I never quite understood where he always disappeared to and to this day I still wonder and still have no answer. We always came to this big scary house together, but I always left alone. This man was married when we met him but later on his wife left him and today I know in my heart she left him knowing what he was doing to me. I always wanted to ask her why she never told the authorities. Why she never helped me. I do know I will never get answers from her or anyone. I don’t remember anything about her. I still tell myself someday I will approach this monster of a man when I’m in Illinois and I will tell him what he has taken from me and I will have my questions answered and also have my say. I know it can never be dealt with in the court room but it will be done. I feel he owes me at least a few minutes of his time to answer questions. I need to tell him he is a horrible person and what he has done or is possibly still doing will cost him in the end. I want him to know all I have endured throughout my life and all I have overcome. He needs to see I am a survivor and I know when my time on earth is over I will not have to worry about seeing him in heaven. I am not just a survivor but I have used my horrible experiences for good. As an EMT I use my past to see through the wall that is put up to hide the hurt and pain that is living inside too many of my patients. When I get a young patient who has been abused I tell her that I am not perfect; that I was hurt too and that helps them to feel safe and comfortable enough with me to remove part of this wall and to open up to me so I can help them get just the right type of help they deserve and need. The more they open up to me the more I can document and pray this will help them get the help they need at this time. I wish I could have had someone like me to help me when I needed to be saved. I only had Leader and at that time in my life Leader was my EMT. When I needed a place to hide from the world his dog house was my refuge. We all have some kind of hurt in us whether it is sexual, physical, or emotional; something as little as losing your pet goldfish and a family member flushing it down the toilet when you wanted it buried. That is a type of hurt that may seem petty to some; but to a child it isn’t petty because you truly loved this fish with your heart and it hurt to lose it. So you see we all have been hurt or felt pain at one time or other in our lives. If we didn’t we would not be human. GOD gave us emotions and feelings to use and to learn from, not to bury them and be cold and heartless uncaring people. I am ok with sharing my story with the world because I hope I can further heal by writing it and others can read it and know there is a life out there for us who have been hurt. Life is just waiting for us to take charge and make it ours. We are the only ones who can change to make us happy and free.

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I started writing poetry when I was in my thirties. Writing was a means for me to put my feelings on paper and to visualize the anger and nightmare that lives inside of me. I experienced a lot of hurt in a very short amount of time in my life. Being the young victim of a child molester was hard enough to live with.